"Well," I said, laughing, miserable suddenly and eager to be gone from Kilburn, "-they all are."

Mom wanted to speak with Abelove before we left, downstairs in his office. She wanted to tell him how impressed she was with the Green Isle Co-op----such wonderful, idealistic young people. Above all she insisted that Abelove accept payment for our meal-she pressed bills into his hand with the fluttery-anxious air of a wealthy woman eager to rid herself of loose cash. "Please accept this, just a small token!" she begged. As if Abelove had somehow to be placated as well as paid. "You were so generous to include us at your table."

Abelove said, with his big broad smile, "Marianne's family is family of ours. You're always welcome here. But, well-thanks!" He took Mom's money and smoothed the bills out on top of his desk-it looked like about fifty dollars." Green Isle can use whatever donations any friends can spare. Kilb.u.m State doesn't give the Co-op any financial support apart from leasing the property to us for a hundred dollars a year. Was it run-down, when we moved in!"

Smiling eagerly, Morn said, "Marianne was explaining-'Frorn each, whatever he or she can give; to each-'

"-'as he or she requires.'

"Oh but you've all done such a marvelous job here- You live plainly and simply, you eat wholesome food, no meat-! wish I could get my husband to give up meat-you're like the early Christians. Before the sects split ofI- and there was so much rivalry- quarreling. I think, deep in our hearts, we know-we don't require theology. There's such happiness in this house, such a sense of- well, family." Mom was worked up, spots of color in her cheeks. It was the way she'd been speaking of President Carter shortly before. "I wish I'd had such a friendly place to live in, instead of just a dorm, at Fredonia State, when I was in college. My daughter is so lucky."

Luckily Marianne didn't hear this. Or Moni didn't notice me slouched and waiting outside Abelove's door. Rolling my eyes. Geez, Mom.

It was then that Mom's and Abelove's chummy-chatty exchange took a disastrous turn. How often at this time in all our lives, conversations with Corinne Mulvaney or Michael Mulvaney Sr. took disastrous turns and you'd never be prepared.

Expansive and beaming like a man who's practiced his smile since babyhood, Abelove was seeing Morn to his door. They'd been getting along one hundred percent: Abelove was obviously imnpressed with Marianne's unexpectedly feisty good-sport morn in slacks, gaudy ski sweater, her hair flyaway yet not unattractive, and Mom was just perceptibly giddy in the younger man's robust masculine presence. Not a s.e.xual energy between them, but almost. Then Abelove made the mistake of saying, "Mrs. Mulvaney, I mean Corinne-you must be very proud of Marianne. She's a special young woman. We call her our peacemaker."

"Do you!" Mom said, her smile going faint. "Well. My daughter has always been a--special person."

"Your daughter possesses a remarkable purity of heart. She has faith in G.o.d and in mankind, in equal measure." Abelove's voice dipped warmly, like a preacher's." She just requires a little more faith in herself."

Marianne was out of earshot, still; down the hail, talking with someone.

Mom said sharply, pressing a hand against her heart, "What? I don't understand." She drew herself up to her full height, stood Staring eye to eye with the startled young man. "I'm not in the habit of discussing my daughter with strangers, Mr. Abelove."

Abelove blinked at my mother, surprised. He tried his smile again, easing it out like somnething on a leash. "But, Mrs. Mulvaney-Marianne is not a stranger to any of us."

"You are a stranger to me, Mr.-oh, that silly made-up name!" Mom's fingers lifted fluttering to her hair. "Please, this conversation has gone on long enough."

Mom walked quickly away, s.n.a.t.c.hing at my arm in pa.s.sing. Abelove rolled back onto his heels like a boxer who's taken a hard, unexpected punch to the midriff. He looked at me pleadingly but I just glowered at him, "Good-bye! Thanks for lunch!" and stalked off after my mom.

Coatless in the thin, freezing wind, her eyes shifting, Marianne kissed us good-bye, hugged us and wept and niade us promise we'd stay overnight next time we visited Kilburn, by then the weather would have turned warm. I'd slid behind the wheel of Morn's Buick station wagon which was looking kind of grim these days, rustflecked, low-slung, one of the rear windows mended with masking tape. I was impatient to get out of Kilburn: the sky had darkened in rapid, shifting patches, like a jammed-up ice floe. By the time we reached the foothills of the Chautauquas and twisty-treacherous High Point Road, it would be clark as midnight. Marianne was asking Mom another time to please say h.e.l.lo to Dad, and give him her love, and tell him she was thinking of him all the time; and the same to all the animals! And-did m.u.f.fin look all right? or did he look, maybe, a little thin? and Mom said brusquely, "When cats age their kidneys start to fail, you know that. Toxins build up in them and they lose their appet.i.tes, even the big, husky eaters, and they lose weight and you'll have to be realistic, Marianne. m.u.f.fin isn't a young cat any longer. He must be-how old?"

Taken by surprise, Marianne blinked at Mom. "I-don't know. Six years? Seven-?"

"That cat is eleven if he's a day," Mom said severely. "You'll just have to be realistic, Marianne."

I ducked my head, couldn't ]ook at my sister's face.

Backing the station wagon then out of the deeply rutted driveway, skidding briefly on an icy patch and then we were on the road aimed for home even as Marianne ran after us in the driveway to stand at the road waving eagerly, braving the wind, a small lone rapidly vanishing figure in the rearview mirror.

BROTHERS.

"Mainly what I'll need from you, Judd, is one of the guns. From out of Dad's cabinet."

I murmured Yes, all right.

"One of them is Dad's.12-gauge Browning shotgun I've never fired. I held it once in my hands, though. It's heavy-lethal. Doublebarreled. It could blow a man's head off at close range. Also there's the.22-caliber Winchester rifle of Mike's-remember? He got me to shoot it a few times. Target practice back of the barns. I remember Mike was surprised, I actually hit the target-beginner's luck, he said."

I didn't remember this. I'd have been too young. My brothers wouldn't have wanted inc tagging after them. Or maybe it had never happened? I had the idea, if I telephoned Mike at the Marine base in Florida, he'd laugh and deny it. What, Pinch? Blind in one eye? He couldn't hit the broad side of a barn.

Patrick was saying, marveling, "It's strange to be talking like this Judd, isn't it? But it seems right. I've been more at peace since I've started planning what has to be done. Other things, that used to crowd my mind, make me anxious and keep me awake-they've fallen into perspective now, they've lost significance. Is it the same way with you?"

I murmured I guess so. Right!

If I spoke so, aloud, it must have been true. again, easing it out like something on a leash. "But, Mrs. Mulvaney-Marianne is not a stranger to any of us."

"You are a stranger to me, Mr.-oh, that silly made-up name!" Mom's fingers lifted fluttering to her hair. "Please, this conversation has gone on long enough."

Mom walked quickly away, s.n.a.t.c.hing at my arm in pa.s.sing. Abelove rolled back onto his heels like a boxer who's taken a hard, unexpected punch to the midriff. He looked at me pleadingly but I just glowered at him, "Good-bye! Thanks for lunch!" and stalked off after my mom.

Coatless in the thin, freezing wind, her eyes shifting, Marianne kissed us good-bye, hugged us and wept and made us promise we'd stay overnight next time we visited Kilburn, by then the weather would have turned warm. I'd slid behind the wheel of Mom's Buick station wagon which was looking kind of grim these days, rustflecked, low-slung, one of the rear windows mended with masking tape. I was impatient to get out of Kilburn: the sky had darkened in rapid, shifting patches, like a jammed-up ice floe. By the time we reached the foothills of the Chautauquas and twisty-treacherous High Point Road, it would be dark as midnight. Marianne was asking Mom another time to please say h.e.l.lo to Dad, and give him her love, and tell him she was thinking of him all the time; and the same to all the animals! And-did m.u.f.fin look all right? or did he look, maybe, a little thin? and Mom said brusquely, "When cats age their kidneys start to fail, you know that. Toxins build up in them and they lose their appet.i.tes, even the big, husky eaters, and they lose weight and you'll have to be realistic, Marianne. m.u.f.fin isn't a young cat any longer. He must be-how old?"

Taken by surprise, Marianne blinked at Mom. "I-don't know. Six years? Seven-?"

"That cat is eleven if he's a day," Mom said severely. "You'll just have to be realistic, Marianne."

I ducked my head, couldn't look at my sister's face.

Backing the station wagon then out of the deeply rutted driveway, skidding briefly on an icy patch and then we were on the road aimed for home even as Marianne ran after us in the driveway to stand at the road waving eagerly, braving the wind, a small lone rapidly vanishing figure in the rearview mirror.

BROTHERS.

"-4ain1y what I'll need from you, Judd, is one of the guns. From out of Dad's cabinet."

I murmured Yes, all right.

"One of them is Dad's.12-gauge Browning shotgun I've never fired. I held it once in my hands, though. It's heavy-lethal. Doublebarreled. It could blow a man's head off at close range. Also there's the.22-caliber Winchester rifle of Mike's-remember? He got me to shoot it a few times. Target practice back of the barns. I remember Mike was surprised, I actually hit the target-beginner's luck, he said."

I didn't remember this. I'd have been too young. My brothers wouldn't have wanted me tagging after them. Or maybe it had never happened? I had the idea, if I telephoned Mike at the Marine base in Florida, he'd laugh and deny it. What, Pinch? Blind in one eye? He couldn't hit the broad side of a barn.

Patrick was saying, marveling, "It's strange to be talking like this Judd, isn't it? But it seems right. I've been more at peace since I've started planning what has to be done. Other things, that used to crowd my mind, make me anxious and keep me awake-they've fallen into perspective now, they've lost significance. Is it the same way with you?"

I murmured I guess so. Ri-ght!

If I spoke so, aloud, it must have been true.

Patrick said, "I couldn't go on with my life. My 'normal' life.

Until justice is executed. Until our enemy is punished." Each time Patrick spoke with me on the phone, through December, January, February, his plan for the execution ofjustice seemed more defined, elaborate. It was as if, away in Ithaca, he was contemplating a map on his wall the details of which he could only hint at, to me. He had scheduled the execution for April, at Easter when he a.s.sumed Zachary Lundt would be home in Mt. Ephraim. Patrick's plan was to surprise Zachary after dark, take him away at gunpoint, preferably in Zachary's own car. There was a place Patrick would force Zachary to drive (he wasn't sure he wanted me to know where, just yet-didn't want me "incriminated" unnecessarily) where they would be isolated and where whatever was to happen would happen. "I'll demand from him an acknowledgment of guilt. Yes, he raped my sister. Yes, he's a rapist and a liar, he's evil and deserves to be punished. You can believe in evil apart from the devil. There's no Satan but there is evil. Evil is genetically programmed into our species, like our rapacity against nature, our greed and superst.i.tion and stupidity-I mean, the inclination. We have a choice of activating the evil within, or not. We have free will. I have free will, and so does Zachary Lundt. He chose evil, he destroyed my family and he has to be punished." Patrick spoke matter-of-factly. I listened mesmerized by these words which were like no other words ever uttered to me in my life. "I don't mean that I'll use the gun. I might be forced to, if he refuses to come with me. I'm aware of the danger-a bullet or bullets could be traced. So if it's an actual execution, if it comes to that," Patrick spoke quickly but calmly, "-I'll use a knife. Maybe I'll let him live and be disfigured. I might castrate him, like a pig. I'm not sure. I haven't decided. I've chioroformed and dissected plenty of lab specimens. But I'll need a gun, Mike's rifle let's say, so that Mike has a hand in this, too, as I think he'd like, don't you? I need to let Zachary Lundt know I'm serious, in the first few seconds. That's the crucial time, when he could call for help, or try to escape." Patrick paused. The northeast wind sweeping across the Valley that sounded like a waterfall down the roofs and sides of our house seemed to be inside the telephone line, making my brother's voice shimmer and echo. "Judd? You're still there?"

I said Sure. Sure Patrick!

Gripping the telephone receiver so tight, my knuckles were waxy-white

"You'll get Mike's gun for me, won't you? You'll bring it to me? And some ammunition, just in case? Somewhere we won't be seen. I can't be seen. Anywhere near Mt. Ephraim, I mean. I'll need to be in two places at once, because I can't be caught and what I'm going to do can't be repeated. It's an experiment that can be performed only once." Patrick spoke in measured, thoughtful sentences. He was both my older brother P.J. whom I adored and feared and someone I didn't know, whose face I could not imagine except for the squinty left eye, the gla.s.ses shoved against the bridge of his nose. "You'll have to unlock Dad's cabinet with his key, you can't force it. If you force the lock-well, you can't. We'll find some other means of getting a gun."

I was staring at the shadowy corner of the room where Dad's cabinet was. One of Mom's "antiques" with a gla.s.s front, made of a hardwood riddled with knots like eyes.